


Mischievous Maintenance

by dark_muse_iris



Series: Working Man Bangtan [2]
Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Hook-Up, Oral Sex, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, Smut, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 14:29:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15487902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dark_muse_iris/pseuds/dark_muse_iris
Summary: Like many adults who are trying to make the best of working in a field unrelated to their degree, you greet Mondays with the same enthusiasm as an ex with shared custody. You don’t to be there, but adult responsibilities require it and you need money. And coffee. And the salacious advances from the head maintenance technician working in your office.Excerpt:Your eyes met the mischievous stare of the head maintenance technician, who had become distracted by the advantageous angle provided by being up on the ladder. It was clear right away that Jimin had stretched out the task to sneak a little peek at the elusive cleavage housed in your blouse. Heat bloomed across your cheeks as he smirked and continued to indulge, clearly enjoying the view. Brazen in his pursuit of your breasts at that moment, his face remained focused on little else. Admittedly, you felt a little rush of excitement at the risk of him getting caught by someone other than you.





	Mischievous Maintenance

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Jimin x Reader
> 
> Genre: Smut
> 
> Warnings: MaintenanceTechnician!Jimin, workplace hookup, sexual themes, dirty talk, rough sex, oral sex, profanity

Monday morning cattle call. The slow, zombie-like trudge was the best way to describe it. You could almost hear the mooing of your coworkers as they begrudgingly shuffled their feet, inching closer to the front door of your towering corporate office building. The grumblings and tired eyes of your colleagues reluctantly greeted the start of a new workweek like one would greet an ex with shared custody; no one wanted to be there, but adult responsibilities required it nonetheless.

The space between your ears was full of the buzzing sounds of all the tasks you had to complete today: update new hires’ personnel records, contact your managers to remind them—tactfully—that updating their staffing allocation reports needed to be done sooner rather than later, call to reschedule your dentist appointment for the third time, pick up dog food on the way home. There was an endless list of tasks to complete, but the most pressing one was to keep your eyes downcast to focus on your pinched feet as you pressed your body closer to your colleagues to squeeze through the front door as quickly as possible.

It wasn’t a surprise you felt you were going to be operating on auto-pilot through most of your day. After all, working in human resources was not the riveting career venture you were aiming for those years ago when you were still bright-eyed and naïve, enrolled in an unrelated field of study, but you tried to make the best of it. Your job paid the bills at least, but the boredom was undeniable, and the whirring of your colleagues' Monday morning catch-up conversations was putting you to sleep. You needed your coffee, and soon, and all these lumbering bodies—coated with mixed scents of patchouli, cheap fruity perfume blends, and too much hairspray—were the only thing standing between you and that rejuvenating first cup.

You were closing in on the entrance and could almost see the badge reader, the glitchy gatekeeper slowing everyone on their quest toward their desks. The skulking forms of your coworkers grew impatient as they witnessed a poor soul whine aloud at her badge which refused to beep, thus barring her entrance and preventing the next person from making an attempt. As the clock ticked closer to seven a.m. and the lines continued to be stalled by faulty microchips, you could feel the crowd’s swell of irritation and resentment cloak the lamenting woman.

While you stood there, resisting the urge to tap your heeled toe against the pavement, you felt a brush of a finger against the palm of your hand. The sensation was startling and broke you of your focus on the day’s tasks and your yearning for caffeine.

"Good morning," he greeted, keeping his voice low but still making it clear he was addressing you.

A scent of fresh soap and aftershave filled your nostrils as you turned to face the building’s head maintenance technician, Jimin. Your eyes noticed his black boots first, as you had been focusing on your own shoes moments before. The navy Dickies hugging his legs snugly left little to the imagination, not that you were complaining. Hell,  _no one_  complained when he was around; not only was he gifted at fixing just about anything in the corporate office, but he often performed his tasks wearing his button-up work shirt with a couple of the top buttons undone, allowing for a little peek at the tight, white undershirt that housed his noticeably firm pectoral muscles underneath. The shirt’s sleeves were always rolled and tucked, displaying his forearms as he worked, or in this case, held his modest metallic lunch pail. His white name tag rested confidently on the left side of his chest, sporting a cursive font that made his name look more innocent than his flirty workplace behavior deserved.

Jimin’s choice to greet you in such a private, undetectable way made your lips purse to keep from showing your true feelings on the gesture and drawing onlookers. He must have noticed it, as he pushed back his attention-seeking orange strands of hair and continued to talk.

"Have a busy day planned? You look distracted this morning,” he noted with a knowing smirk.

The corners of your mouth turned upwards as you felt your cheeks heat up. "Good morning, Jimin. Yes, every day is a busy day," you agreed, as your fingers crawled up to your neck to adjust your cerulean silk scarf.

"That's a beautiful shade of blue, Ms. ___," he continued, struggling to fight back a chuckle.

"You're not funny," you hissed under your breath, throwing a glare in his direction as you felt waves of embarrassment wash over you. "You know it's too damn hot for this scarf!"

He laughed as he moved behind you, appearing to any onlooker as a colleague eager to get through the office entrance.

"It's a nice contrast to that blush in your cheeks," he murmured against your ear.

The audacity of his forwardness trapped air in your throat, compelling you to cough unexpectedly. "Thank you for the compliment," you forced through gritted teeth, exhibiting all restraint from smacking him for speaking that way so close to other potential listeners.

The badge reader at the entrance door became available as you found your feet in front of it at last. Your hand reached for the retractable plastic card at your waist and pulled until it grazed the black box and gave a small beep, unlocking the door and allowing you to enter.  _Good, no glitches for me this morning_ , you thought, feeling relieved.

Stepping over the threshold, you prepared to quicken your pace to make the quick dash toward your desk—but your walk slowed as you felt the graze of Jimin's finger against your open palm again. He continued to walk behind you as you approached your destination, and you were swallowing back the temptation to rebuke him for being so close. It wasn’t until the man moved in front of you to open the door leading to your department that you softened your posture.

"After you," he offered, with a devilish look not to be trusted. "Hope you have a fine morning, Ms. ___."

You walked past, unsure of what to say.  _Eh,_   _I shouldn’t be rude_ , you thought, turning around to exchange a kind word—only to scoff as you caught him eyeing your ass in your pencil skirt with a look of temptation.  _He has some nerve!_

* * *

 

The clicking sounds of plastic keys smacking rapidly against your keyboard filled the morning. After all, a new fiscal year meant new reports, new projections for staffing, and a metric ton of new work for your department. On most days, you would be on a roll and be able to blast out the reports for the new year with relative ease, but on this particular morning, you were interrupted by the incessant buzzing coming from a faulty fluorescent light bulb suspended above your desk. It reminded you of one of those large, LED bug zapper lights, and the lively whirring and humming noise sounded like it had just trapped a fresh moth and was now proceeding to fry it until it finally died and silence could be restored. It was clear the fluorescent bulb was on its last leg, as the buzzes accompanied erratic flickering to match the cadence of your twitching, irritated eyelid.

 _Just fucking die already_ , you mentally cursed the light bulb, knowing that service requests to fix anything in the office would only be fulfilled if the item in question was truly broken. A blinking bulb was a nuisance, but one that could clear up, in theory. “It’ll be fine,” was the office’s catchphrase when they didn’t want to pay for something, so it didn’t take much for you to fantasize over throwing something upward toward the ceiling to finish the light off once and for all.

Several minutes passed as the buzzing and spastic flickers culminated in a sharp pop as the light finally met its end. You smiled in satisfaction as you now had enough evidence to justify your complaint. Sharp taps resounded from your keyboard as you busted out a fresh maintenance request to have the light bulb changed as soon as possible.

Over an hour later, you heard a husky clearing of a throat behind your office chair.

"Excuse me, Ms. ___?"

You could tell he was trying to pretend he didn't already know your name. It was a natural response, you supposed, as your department had several employees who would have undoubtedly noticed the attractive maintenance technician making an entrance with a fresh box of fluorescent light bulbs and a large ladder.

"Yes?" you swiveled in your chair, trying to look indifferent and unaffected by the fact that Jimin was the one assigned to change the lights. “Mr. Park, how can I help you?”

"You placed a service request?" he posed the question with a wide grin, resting the ladder next to the wall beside you. He was keen on dragging out the conversation, and you could see why, as his eyes skimmed over your blue silk scarf and landed resolutely on your breasts. Yes, you suspected he had ample reasons to stall.

Crossing your arms to break his line of sight, you replied sarcastically, "Can you not see the light is out?"

He poked his tongue against his inner cheek, jostling a piece of chewing gum around in his mouth, smirking at how sharply you answered. Squeezing the sides of the cardboard bulb box, he anchored his stance. "I just want to make sure my customer understands that I want her to be satisfied by the service I'm about to provide."

You blinked hard at his sordid insinuation. "Well, I will be  _satisfied_  when I can see a well-lit workspace, Mr. Park."

Jimin playfully blew out a puff of air as though he had the wind knocked out of him, then lowly retorted, "Someone's sassy today."

"And someone's stalling when I have work to do,” you fired back with an overconfident tilt of your head. Swiveling your chair back around, you pretended to ignore him and resume your work.

He chuckled from behind you as he made an irritating, metallic screech from opening the ladder. The heavy thuds of his work boots filled your ears as he made his ascent and began his work of changing the bulb. You expected him to make short work of the task, given there were thousands of fluorescent lights in your building. However, after several minutes passed, Jimin was still up there. Curiosity got the better of you and you lifted your view up toward the ceiling to discover the cause for delay.

Your eyes met the mischievous stare of the head maintenance technician, who had become distracted by the advantageous angle provided by being up on the ladder. It was clear right away that Jimin had stretched out the task to sneak a little peek at the elusive cleavage housed in your blouse. Heat bloomed across your cheeks as he smirked and continued to indulge, clearly enjoying the view. Brazen in his pursuit of your breasts at that moment, his face remained focused on little else. Admittedly, you felt a little rush of excitement at the risk of him getting caught by someone other than you.

You let him enjoy himself a little longer before clearing your throat and raising your eyebrows, communicating that he needed to get on with it. Smiling with pleasure at having rattled you a bit, Jimin lifted his arms to pop open the light's plastic screen and replace the bulb—very slowly, of course.

 _Unbelievable_ , you huffed, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. Instead, you rebelliously focused them on tracing the carved lines of muscle from Jimin's legs all the way up to his ass, proudly displayed in the sinfully snug navy work pants he was wearing. You wouldn't consider yourself an expert on maintenance attire, but you suspected there were looser fitting options out there and he had strategically selected these on purpose. The thick twill fabric couldn't have been more than thirty dollars at the closest discount warehouse store, but the way they clung to his thighs and called out to your baser instincts was nothing short of priceless. The round flesh attached to that man was a blessing in your otherwise boring morning. It wasn't until he flexed his muscles suggestively that you realized he had caught you staring as well.

"Ahem, well Ms. ___, I guess you can see just fine now," Jimin chided playfully as he began climbing down the ladder, proud of himself for drawing your attention.

You felt a laugh get caught in your throat, forcing you to reach for your bottle of water. Jimin closed the ladder and continued to beam, pleased with himself for affecting you.

"Yes, thank you for your hard work, Mr. Park," you replied as you felt a grin begin to stretch across your features, only to be washed away by the cool drink filling your mouth.

Jimin paused a moment, then leaned closer to your desk. "Be sure to give me a call if you need your bulbs tweaked again."

You struggled to gulp your water down from the shock of his words, delivered only a few feet away from your coworkers. He began to chuckle at your facial expressions, which quickly shifted from surprise to something else which communicated, "Get out!" Nodding in amusement, he grabbed his ladder and made his way out of your department’s cubicle area, on toward the next job of the day.

* * *

 

The tap-tap-tap of your heels against the beige tile floor echoed in the long, empty hallway connecting the human resources department to the others in your office building. Your pace was a bit more brisk than usual, as you didn't want to be late for your meeting with the executive managers to discuss staffing projections for the next quarter. Your destination was at the farthest end of the hall.

One corner turned, two to go, and your mind was occupied mulling over the key points of what you needed to report. It was a relief to have a quiet stroll with your thoughts at last, and you were thankful for the peculiar choice of meeting time: right before lunch. It was sure to be a short meeting to be scheduled that way, and you felt happy you wouldn’t be kept behind and compelled to discuss your weekend plans with managers who you knew didn’t give a shit anyway.

The long journey to the front office was interrupted by the sight of none other than the attractive head maintenance technician, who had disabled the nearby elevator and was silently working on the wiring for the control panel. The rapping of your shoes had no doubt severed his concentration, but the cocky grin on his face informed you that he wasn't offended by the interruption in the slightest.

"Aren't you a little lost, Miss HR?" He tilted his head, raising his eyebrow as though you had taken a special detour just to see him.

You knew he was taking advantage of the fact that you two were alone in the hallway. He hoped to rile you up, but two could play at that game. Twisting the loose ends of your silk scarf in your fingers, you licked your lips and assured him in a sultry tone, "I don't get lost." You placed your hand suggestively on your hip, adjusting your walk to swing a little more in the hopes of enticing him.

Detecting your raising of the stakes, he dropped his screwdriver in the tool bag by his feet and narrowed his eyes at you, before letting his hand inch down his chest and abdomen to rudely grab the bulge nestled in his navy trousers. The look in his darkening pupils communicated a sense of confidence...well, perhaps overconfidence, but it was clear he was proud of what he was holding by the way he lifted his chin.

"If you ever do get lost, I can help you find your way," he offered in a low tone, before puckering his lips and kissing the air like he was summoning a dog to come get a special treat.

The gesture was shameless and wholly indecent, yet it succeeded in compelling your gaze to linger on the strong hand between his legs. A familiar ache percolated between your own, and you wanted nothing more than to ditch your meeting and pounce on him for daring to grope himself so openly.

"Mm, I'm sure you can," you flirted in response, trying to stay composed, "but I have a very important meeting to get to and you would make me late."

"Very late," he agreed, before resting his arm high against the elevator door. "They scheduled a meeting this close to lunch? That's sort of odd, isn’t it?"

"Yea, but now it'll be a short one. I'll still have lunch on time today…" you trailed off, looking pleased by the fact.

You walked past him with the certainty that he was going to stare at your ass again, prompting your palms to rub tenderly against the curves of your skirt. "Shouldn't you get back to work?" you scolded lightheartedly.

Jimin grunted hungrily from inside the elevator, confirming your suspicions. The cackling in your throat carried down the hall to his ears as you turned the last corner and disappeared from his view.

* * *

 

The clock struck twelve-thirty and with a rapid flourish of your fingers, you locked your computer and signed out for lunch. Your heartbeat quickened with anticipation as your legs shifted hastily back and forth, carrying you closer to your goal—the large supply closet at the far end of the hall, next to the maintenance office.

Two rapid knocks, then three slow ones, and the door opened swiftly.

"Get in here," Jimin whispered sinfully as he hooked his finger in the collar of your blouse and pulled you inside the closet.

No sooner had the door closed and you heard the click of the lock, you felt his body press yours urgently against the cold metal door. Your arms folded around his warm neck, hanging on desperately, as his hands began pulling at your blouse to untuck it from your skirt.

"Hurry up," you hissed, writhing as his thumbs worked to unfasten the buttons.

"Should’ve taken a longer lunch break, princess," he retorted. "You're so needy today, tsk."

"I've been wet since the elevator, okay?! I had to go to the executive meeting that way!"

"You did?" Jimin slowed his hands, his expression perking up with enjoyment. "Fuck, that's hot. I wondered if they noticed."

"Oh my god!" You smacked his shoulder as he chuckled and connected his lips to yours. Your chest swelled with longing as the soft pillowtop cushions of them coaxed you into silent obedience. His hands snaked around the small of your back and pulled you closer to him, and in that moment, you forgot all the rude interactions of the day and savored it. The smell of his scent filled your nostrils as your hips pressed against his with need. Licking against the seal of his mouth, your tongue hungrily demanded entrance as it interlaced with his. He tasted of mint, no doubt from the gum you recalled him chewing earlier in the day. A whimper slipped from your mouth when your breasts became kneaded by his ever-present hands. Jimin had a gift for extracting the sweet sounds of your pleasure with minimal effort. He was always sure of every move he made, determined to have you join him in becoming lost in each other’s tastes.

After several heated moments against the closet door, Jimin broke away and began to slip his fingers into the knot near the base of your throat, trying to untie your silk scarf which had distracted him all day.

"Jimin...," you softly protested.

"I want to see them," he replied playfully, unwrapping the fabric to reveal a line of fading bruises, his handiwork from the previous hookup you had during the Saturday overtime shift.

The low hum in his throat let you know he remained proud of marking you up. "Are they still sore, baby?" he whispered against your neck before lapping tenderly over each bruise with the flat of his pink tongue.

"Yes, they were very deep last—ah Jimin, dammit!" you hissed as you felt him suck new coloration into the sensitive skin where the previous hickeys were already present.  _I'm going to be stuck with this damn scarf, it's too much to conceal_ , you lamented, angry at yourself for relishing the knocking throbs you continued to feel in your core while you under his touch.

"Tsk, you'd better be quiet in here. It's Monday," he teased with a press of his pelvis against your skirt. "You wouldn't want your colleagues to find out you're whoring it up in this closet with me."

You snickered impishly at his words. The supply closet was relatively organized, yes, but it was still a supply closet, bathed in the screeching light of fluorescent bulbs. It smelled like industrial-grade bleach, and because it was the main hub for the building's cleaning supplies and equipment, it lacked many of the proper surfaces a corporate office hookup would require. Of course, in most office hookup scenarios, one wouldn't be fucking the maintenance technician. Not unless they were as skilled with their mouth as the man sneaking around with you was. That fact alone made you more than willing to “whore it up” in whatever closet, so long as he worked you over as well as he had last Saturday.

Jimin continued his ministrations across your neck as he pulled your blouse over your shoulders and hung it on the newly installed hook on the wall next to the door, a little addition he made to ensure your nice shirts stayed safe and clean. Your fingers worked diligently to unbutton his outer work shirt before yanking the white undershirt over his head and tossing them both on the only chair in the closet.

A warm lull hung in the air as your eyes slowly raked over each other’s exposed bodies, watching each other’s chests lift in unison, feeling the swell of the energy in the room that often accompanied your quick and dirty dalliances.

"God, I've missed you," he hummed against your ear as your hands began to crawl over the smooth expanse of his bare chest, your nails teasing his flesh.

"It's only been two days," you reminded him, grinning as his palms found purchase in the curve of your buttocks.

"So? Am I not allowed to miss this ass?" he asked with a possessive squeeze.

Your memory recalled to earlier that morning when you watched him change your light bulbs above your desk. "I missed your ass too."

"I bet you did, baby. You didn't blink the whole time I was up on the ladder.” Jimin’s lips curled against the crook of your neck.

"How did you know?" you inquired jokingly.

Jimin laughed, then roughly grabbed your chest. "Because I was staring at these beautiful tits the whole time."

As he pulled down your bra and leaned his head down toward the taut areola of your right breast, you grew self-conscious. The truth was you hated your breasts, never finding them particularly impressive in shape or size. Hell, you were pretty sure one was hanging lower than the other by a centimeter or two, just enough to convince you that Jimin could—and maybe should—be wrapping his soft lips around something better.

"Eh, I don't really like them," you blurted, squeezing your eyes shut and resting your head against the door as you struggled to stay in the moment.

A whimper released from your throat as he sucked the flesh of your breast and pulled your nipple further into his mouth. He groaned against your skin and let the vibrations of his voice reverberate against the sensitive nerves, then released your bud with a loud pop. Pressing his index finger against your lips, he scolded, "You're not allowed to talk bad about yourself while you're in my domain."

"You mean this disgusting closet?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Dammit ___, I cleaned up in here," he argued, then turned his attention back to your breasts. "But yes, these tits are mine until you walk out that door, and I won't have you insulting them. I missed them, I'm enjoying them, and I've been half hard all day from looking at them."

"Hm, only half? I must be losing my edge," you grinned, tugging impatiently at his belt.

He pushed your hand away. "Easy girl, let me work first!"

"Hurry up then! This isn't a date."

Jimin scoffed, then grabbed your shoulder and spun you around, pinning your body against the door.

"That really hurt, you know," he said, yanking your skirt up over your ass, bunching the fabric around your waist. "You know I want to take you out, but this is the only bone you give me to play with. You're being a spoiled princess right now."

His words stung, but he was right. You knew he was interested in being more than a workplace hookup for months, yet your answer was always no. You didn't want to deal with the inevitable rumors that would ensue should your colleagues discover that you were fucking the support staff. Even if Jimin was a highly skilled fuck and able to use nearly any surface to his advantage, he was a roughneck, too risky to be anything more than a recreational distraction. Besides, his comments about you being a spoiled princess made you think that he was simply working out some subconscious class struggle feelings by fucking your brains out every few days on your lunch breaks. It was a mutual arrangement that suited you both just fine, or at least you thought so.

Jimin hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and slipped them down your legs as you remained pressed to the cold door of the closet. His palms brushed up your thighs, inching closer to your heat, then you remembered.

"Did you wash your hands?" you asked, turning to face him and receive his answer.

"What?" Jimin's hands stopped moving, then he shrugged. "Eh, probably."

You smacked his arm. "What do you mean, 'probably'?!"

"Of course, I washed my hands," he replied with an exaggerated eye-roll. He lowered himself to the floor, spreading his knees to anchor himself. "Not that I was going to use them anyway…"

"Wh—oh, god," you choked on your breath as you felt the first swipe of Jimin's tongue pass along your folds. His hands smoothed over your legs as you arched your back, pushing your hips away from the door to offer him more access in the hopes he would keep going.

As Jimin continued his expedition between your legs, you struggled to stay connected with him. Unfortunately, your eyes kept zeroing in on the shelves of supplies: the oversized bottles, the dirty brooms, the mop bucket in the corner of the room. It was dirty, having sex in that dingy closet that smelled of cleaning chemicals. You considered whether you were more susceptible to cancer or some freak infection being parted like the Red Sea by the eager man eating you out below. Jimin must have detected you were slipping, as your attention was redirected to the present by a rather sharp smack against your ass. The sting hit your skin and you bit back your urge to moan aloud as you felt him increase the pressure of his tongue as if to chastise you for not focusing on what was important.

"Shh! Someone's going to hear," you whispered harshly as your body jerked against his tongue which was now dipping in for a deeper taste. Your reprimand made Jimin chuckle between your legs, the laps of his tongue increasing in rapidity until your nails scratched against his head and your chest began to heave in panting breaths.

After several more flicks and dips of his tongue, Jimin slowed his movement and eased off the intensity. His hands trailed up the sides of your legs with soft kneading motions and for a moment you forgot where you were and imagined you were somewhere more intimate and pleasant. Jimin's hands had a gift for making you escape, pulling or pushing you wherever he wanted, and right now he wanted you to relax and enjoy the slower ride with him as he continued to rock his face into your heat. Admittedly, this pace wasn't what you were expecting when you first agreed to regular hookups with Jimin. These days, however, you had grown more suspicious that he was trying to slow down his interactions to stretch out your time together. Maybe he really wasn't quite the rough guy you believed him to be. It was hard to know for sure when all you did was fuck each other.

In either case, a glance at your watch sent a jolt of alarm to your heart. Time was ticking away quickly and Jimin was taking his sweet time, slowing your approach to keep you from getting the quick release you wanted. You were growing irritated at being stalled. He knew you didn’t want to take a longer lunch break and arouse suspicion.  _Is he slowing down on purpose to teach me a lesson? Is he trying to upset me?_

"Hey, you gotta hurry up down there. I'm running out of time," you urged, now convinced you weren't going to come at all.

Jimin pulled away from you and stood to his feet, wearing a creased brow of insult. Without warning, he plunged two fingers into your core and angled them strategically to silence you.

His eyes flashed in anger as he spoke, "You are so spoiled for someone with such a sweet pussy. Why can't you enjoy the journey instead of racing to the finish like an impatient bitch?"

"Excuse me?" you shot back, reeling in anger, partly from his words and partly from the way your hips continued to buck hungrily against his hand. "I don't have to waste my lunches fucking you. Maybe I should fuck Jeremy from marketing next time. He'll probably be timelier!"

"You know what?" Jimin sneered, withdrawing his hand from between your legs and swiftly jerking the silk scarf off from around your neck. Balling it haphazardly into a crumpled bunch, he stuffed it in your mouth. Your eyes widened in shock at the way he smiled, gloating at having shut you up at last.

"There, now you're much nicer," he said, patting your head like a child. "Now I'm going to bend you over that utility sink over there and fuck you good and hard. Is that permissible, your Highness?"

You couldn't figure out where this side of Jimin was coming from exactly, but you suspected that mentioning Jeremy and trying to rush was the cause of it. Nodding your head slowly gave him the signal to grab you by the back of the neck and walk you over to the large sink in the corner of the closet. You didn't want to venture a guess as to what the sink was used for, what sort of dirty mop water got poured down its drain day in and day out, but you were at least relieved to feel it was sturdy under your hands. Something about the way Jimin jerked his zipper down suggested he wouldn't be going easy on you—and you couldn't deny the shift in the room as excitement bubbled erratically in the pit of your stomach.

He pressed his hand firmly against your back until you were bent over the sink, your hands gripping onto each stainless-steel side of it. The tips of his fingers trailed along your spine and you felt your body relax and arch against his touch.

"To think I was looking forward to spending time with you again, with this burning a hole in my pocket." You detected the sound of unwrapping foil and turned your head to confirm he was using protection. Jimin raised an eyebrow at your inspection and proceeded to wiggle his dick at you. "Did you really think I wouldn't use one? Come on, ___. I hate them, but I'm not parent material."

You began to give an apology, but the stuffed scarf muffled your attempt at communication. Jimin chuckled as you hung your head and turned to face the sink again.

Lining the tip of his shaft between your folds, he commented, "You know, for a woman who likes to complain about my methods, you feel plenty ripe to me. I can just shove right in. Would you like that, baby?"

"Mhm," you hummed into the fabric, nodding your head to further express your wishes.

The first thrust wasn't slow. It wasn't accommodating or respectful of your body and its need to adjust. No, it was selfish and possessive—and you couldn't have been more pleased. A grunt squeezed between Jimin's teeth and the sound of it made you wish you had pissed him off even more. The stuffed scarf was a godsend, as it blocked the first cry that escaped you the moment he penetrated deep into your core. Getting plowed became your only focus the second you felt him fill you up and anchor his hands roughly to the sides of your hips. He knew what you liked and was prepared to offer it freely. You wanted to be used urgently and without mercy, and hoped the hard squeeze of your walls around his dick communicated as much.

Jimin wasted no time as he set a brutal pace, pounding into your flesh as the smacks of your skin echoed in the concrete room. Each thrust was accompanied by a pant of exertion from deep within his lungs, and it was music to your ears.

"You wanted me to have clean hands, but look at you, doing the dirty in this disgusting closet," he taunted. "I bet you can smell that bleach. You're not going to be able to get that smell out of your head when I'm done with you."

The rapidity of his thrusts was hot and burning against your skin, but you couldn't get enough. Searing tears of pleasure filled the corners of your eyes as you backed your ass against his hips with each thrust to allow him to pierce even deeper. Jimin's commentary on the situation only served to further fuel your desire for him.

"Look at what a filthy whore you are, rutting your ass against me hoping to get fucked harder," he remarked as he gripped your waist tighter and continued his brutal onslaught. "You think  _Jeremy_  can fuck you as good as I can? He wears pocket protectors, for fuck's sake. He’s too weak to use you up like I do." He punctuated his statement with an extra hard thrust that threatened to hit your cervix and you groaned unabashedly into the scarf.

 _Ah, so he knows who Jeremy is_. The confirmation that Jimin knew of him must have been the source of the offense, not that you were regretful; you were inching closer to feeling that familiar coil in your core you desperately wanted. Maybe he was jealous, but you didn't care in that moment. You only cared about reaching your end, which is why you answered Jimin with an eager shake of your head to assure him that he was the only fuck you could ever want.

"That's right," he whispered from behind you, his pelvis continuing to piston in wild abandon. "You love this dick."

The whimpers coming from your mouth sounded pathetic, but you couldn’t help yourself from losing all sense of decency. The way he angled himself inside your walls and battered your g-spot like you were a piece of meat was enough to blur the vision in your watering eyes. Gripping the sink for dear life was the safest precaution to take. You were getting close to your end, and unable to contain the muffled moans which spilled from your lips as you clenched him harder.

"God, your cunt is so tight, fuck," he groaned, the pleasure mounting in his voice as he began to roll his hips rhythmically with more pointed thrusts. "Come on, baby. Soak this dick."

It grew difficult to comprehend his words as you felt your orgasm approaching at last. You wanted to communicate to him that you were right there at the edge, as was customary between you, but the scarf diminished your words into mewling that sounded like an animal in danger. So, you did the best you could and opted to rock back on him harder as your moans were timed with each thrust. When the wave of pleasure was on the verge of breaking, you arched your back and emitted a long whine that he recognized as a plea for that last push of effort. He pulled your body up until your back rested against his chest, now coated in a thin layer of sweat, as his right fingers began ardently strumming against your clit.

"Come, you filthy whore," he whispered softly into your ear.

His words made your body sputter and spasm as your climax sent a rush of energy to all ends of your body. Jimin acted quickly and bent you back over the sink before grabbing your waist again and pumping his dick hard and fast to chase his high. The heat from your orgasm blossomed throughout your form as you felt Jimin's hips press resolutely against your ass as he claimed your walls for his own and erupted.

Jimin released a sigh of fulfillment, wrapping his arms tenderly around your waist and holding you for a moment. Then, as he remembered where you were and what time it was, he quickly withdrew and removed his condom, tying a quick knot in it and tossing it in the trash. You stood from the sink and felt the immediate, aching aftermath of the act you shared. You suspected you looked like death warmed over, at least by the way Jimin grinned and handed you a box of wipes. He was nothing if not resourceful.

"There's a mirror on the back wall," he muttered, pulling the now damp scarf from your mouth. He gave the scarf a quick whip and walked toward the sink. You felt a protest threaten to come out of your mouth, but stopped just in time as you saw Jimin turn on the hand dryer and begin drying the scarf as best he could, given the time constraint.

"You don't have to do that," you said softly as you straightened your skirt, a bit touched by the kindness of his gesture.

Jimin cleared his throat as he tried to form a tactful response. "I did, ___. How would you explain a wet, crumpled scarf when it looked nice earlier?"

"I-I didn't think of that," you answered, feeling a rush of embarrassment as you grabbed your blouse and put it back on.

You walked toward him to examine the scarf, which now looked mostly passable, at least enough to make it through the afternoon. He pulled it around your neck and tugged the ends to bring your closer, his soft lips pressing tender kisses against the bruises left behind.

"I'm sorry I marked you this badly," he whispered against your skin.

You kissed his cheek. "Don't be. I like them. They’re a nice memento."

His face warmed pleasantly at your words. "I appreciate that. I'm not apologizing for that fuck, though. You earned that one by treating me like your servant.”

His accusation affected you more than you thought, and silence hung uncomfortably in the air for a few moments as you finished tying your scarf.

"I'm sorry,” you apologized quietly. “I should have treated you better."

Jimin nodded, then tried to lighten the mood. "Well, it's not your fault really. It's all that fancy, clean air getting to your head, making you feel superior and shit."

You rolled your eyes. "God, there's no way the air filters were  _that_  bad over the weekend."

"___, they were fucking  _nasty_ ," he stressed with eyes bulging. "You're all lucky I was here to change them. Someone could have died."

His hand passed through the messy orange strands of hair atop his head with the overconfidence of a man who thought he was God's gift to everyone.

"You're so full of shit," you laughed, shaking your head. "Hey, where are my panties?"

"Oh, you mean  _my_  memento?" he jested, pulling the corner of them out of his pants pocket. "You're not getting these back. I want to think of you out there bare in the wild."

"Just don't use them to clean your tools or anything...weird," you requested, making your way toward the door.

"I respect your panties too much for that," Jimin replied, pulling them out of his pocket and holding them up to his face. He inhaled deeply as his eyes rolled back in his head. Your jaw dropped in shock.

"You're unbelievable!" you hissed, both horrified and strangely flattered by the man’s baser sign of interest in you.

"You have a nice day, Miss HR," he waved as he ushered you out the door, snickering with a mischievous grin.


End file.
